


Mine in black, in red, in yellow.

by ConvenientAlias



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Dubcon Kissing, Dysfunctional Relationships, Knifeplay, M/M, Nightmares, Possessive Behavior, Raven Neil Josten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Riko didn’t frighten Neil. Not really.And it was fucking frustrating.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Riko Moriyama
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102
Collections: Writing Rainbow Yellow





	Mine in black, in red, in yellow.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingargents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/gifts).



Riko didn’t frighten Neil. Not really.

And it was fucking frustrating.

Not that he couldn’t make Neil afraid. Neil had been a Raven for a month now, and even with the spare amount of free time they had between practices and classes, it would have been pretty pathetic if Riko hadn’t managed to scare Neil even once. There were ways to get Neil to heel, certainly. It was just that most of them weren’t actually about Riko, but about Neil’s father.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why you and your mother were running?” he’d asked when they’d finally brought Neil in. Incredulous; Neil still claimed not to know of any connection with the Moriyamas, still said that their claim to “own” him was ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly be that ignorant.

“My father is the Butcher of Baltimore,” Neil had spat out. “I didn’t have to wonder.”

Riko had to laugh. Maybe Neil really was that ignorant. The Butcher had a lot of power within his own sphere of influence, but the Moriyamas had been chasing Nathaniel and Mary across the globe—and Neil had seriously believed all of that was Nathan Wesninski? “You weren’t running from your father, Nathaniel. You were running from his master.”

It had taken a solid ten minutes to convince Neil that he wasn’t straight-up lying. That the Butcher actually had a master, and that he’d sold Nathaniel to the Moriyamas, and that Nathaniel (or Neil, now) was theirs. Then Neil had asked, cautiously, “So you aren’t going to send me to my father?”

“As if we would, after what you’ve cost us. You’ll be one of us Ravens now, and you’ll have to pay us back. And you’ll have to learn how to behave.” Riko cast him a glare.

And, after a moment of hesitation, Neil relaxed.

“Okay, then. So… I’m going to be playing Exy?”

And he’d been that relaxed ever since.

* * *

Of course, Riko had at first been able to frighten Neil with the prospect that he might, after all, send Neil back to his father. “Or we might just shoot you ourselves,” he added, which only made Neil roll his eyes. Neil had stiffened whenever his father was brought up, and he’d put extra effort into practice, and tried to be a little more polite (his manners were, in general, abysmal). But then he had slowly grown to realize that he fit in with the team pretty well, that he had been a significant investment on the Moriyamas’ part, and that while Riko threatened returning him, it was a threat he could only follow through on once, really, and besides, Riko didn’t like sharing his toys. And from then on, threats of Nathan Wesninski had only made him mildly nervous. In short, he had become insufferable.

After he’d sassed Riko in front of all of the rest of the Ravens at once—bringing up Kevin, which was too much, no one was allowed to bring up Kevin—Riko had decided it was time to discipline him seriously. The beatings Tetsuji did had no effect, extra practice seemed to be something he actually enjoyed… Riko would have to take matters into his own hands.

“Come to my room this evening after practice,” he said. “We need to have a conversation.”

Neil nodded obediently, but there was still a defiant glint in his eyes.

He showed up, though, and showed up promptly. Even though he’d spent eight years running away from the Moriyamas, he seemed to take it as a point of pride not to run away from Riko. Riko would have loved to say that was because he knew the consequences, but the casual way Neil acted around him made even obedience seem like defiance.

He brought Neil into his room and closed the door. Turned back to him. Neil cocked his head.

Riko didn’t used to discipline people in here. He barely used to bring people back in here at all. Because this used to be Kevin’s room, too. Kevin didn’t like the things Riko did, and Riko had indulged him by letting him avoid watching punishments for the most part. And, too, the room he’d shared with Kevin had felt somewhat… private.

He scowled. Kevin. He didn’t give a shit about Kevin anymore. Neil bringing him up, suggesting otherwise, was unforgiveable—and allowing himself to dwell on that now was unforgiveable. He smiled. “Take off your shirt, Neil.”

Neil muttered, “Pervert.” Riko pretended not to hear him; at least he was taking off his shirt. Underneath, his back and chest were a complex landscape of scars. Some of them, at least, Riko took a little pride in—the bullet scars he was sure came from Moriyama men, a price Neil had had to pay for running. Some of them, the older ones, annoyed him because he was sure they came from Nathan Wesninski, who had known for years that Neil would be going to the Moriyamas eventually—how had he dared to damage the goods before they were delivered?

He took a deep breath in, and let it out again. None of that mattered. All of Neil’s old scars, he told himself, he would paint over with his own work.

He took out a knife. Neil stilled.

“If you hurt me too badly, I won’t be able to play Exy. We have a game coming up.”

“Maybe you should have considered that before misbehaved,” Riko said. “The Ravens have plenty of players, and you’re still new. No one will give a shit if you’re benched.”

He placed the point of his blade on Neil’s collarbone. Neil’s breath hitched.

He’d never acted like this, freezing up or making excuses, when threatened with a beating. Knives were his weakness, then? “Are you actually scared, Neil?”

Neil’s “Fuck you” sounded automatic, but it still pissed Riko off. He cut in, making a thin, shallow line from collarbone all the way to nipple. Neil hissed. Riko pulled the knife back to touch the blood beading up from the cut. He smeared it with his finger; the cut remained thin but the line of blood became bolder, thicker.

People said Wesninski hair, Butcher hair, was the color of blood, but it really wasn’t. It was still too orangey, while blood was such a bright, vivid red. The blood didn’t match Neil’s hair, but it was a good color on his pale skin regardless.

Neil said, “If you’re done enjoying the view, Riko.”

His voice was a little too wobbly for his usual obnoxious self. Still. Riko glared at him.

“Kind of thought you were going to punish me. Unless you actually did want to have a conversation.” Neil raised his eyebrows. “Though if I’d thought you’d actually wanted to talk, I probably would have run away. You never have anything to say worth listening to.”

Riko sighed and put a hand over Neil’s mouth. Making the next cut with one hand was a little tricky—he usually braced with one hand and cut with the other—but it was worth it to shut Neil up.

(And to feel Neil’s clenched jaw under his palm, the warmth of his carefully regulated breath as he fought to stay calm, was almost better than watching the blood well up from the cut.)

Knives scared Neil almost as much in appearance as in use. He didn’t seem to care about the pain; it was the knives themselves that bothered him, the concept of cutting. Riko still used them as an effective deterrent for a while—the threat of them was more practical than the threat of returning Neil to Wesninski, and they did sometimes convince Neil to behave. Though Neil said, “You know, Riko, I sometimes feel like you don’t give a shit about discipline. You just like fucking me up.”

Riko sneered. He usually wouldn’t mind admitting something like that, but Neil was actually smirking. “As if I enjoy anything about you.”

Neil hummed. “You know you don’t have to employ knives just to make me take my shirt off.”

For a trembling moment, Riko was tempted to ask. But he could tell from looking at Neil that the prospect didn’t scare him, and for some reason, that made it oddly frightening to Riko.

It was an uncomfortable feeling. He didn’t bring Neil back to his room that night, but he did find him after practice, and hit him and hit him while Neil laughed. He was pulling his punches. He didn’t know why.

* * *

It was an even stranger instinct that led him one night to say, “Sleep here.”

Neil stared at him.

“Jean Moreau can do without you for one night,” Riko said irritably. “The two of you barely work as partners anyhow.”

“Yes, but…” Neil bit his lip. He gestured to the bed. There was only one; Riko had had Kevin’s bed removed when Kevin left. He didn’t need a partner. “I’m going to get your sheets dirty.”

Riko had really indulged himself that evening, and Neil’s chest and back were covered in blood. Some crusted or congealed, but some still wet. Riko sighed. “Go clean yourself up and come back then.”

Neil hesitantly nodded.

When he came back, he was wearing a shirt again. A black shirt at least (Riko often told him not to wear other colors, but he didn’t always listen) but it was a pity. Riko wanted to see what he’d done for the cuts. Had he covered them up with long bandages? Simply cleaned them out and left them to the open air, since they were shallow and no longer bleeding? He wanted to see the lines he’d left behind, but ever since that taunt the other week (“you don’t have to employ knives just to make me take my shirt off”) he felt unnerved at the idea of asking. Neil was getting ideas about how Riko felt about him. Worse, Riko himself…

He didn’t like the way he felt about Neil. He was on the verge of losing control of it—control of Neil, control of himself—and that couldn’t be allowed.

He was the one in charge here. The Moriyama. Captain of the Ravens. He gestured for Neil to lie down. “You’d better rest. Practice tomorrow is early.”

“As ever,” Neil muttered. But he lay down next to Riko without hesitation, and Riko pulled the covers over them, and it was surprisingly easy to sleep.

Neil’s nightmares woke him.

He didn’t scream, but he did squirm, and Riko was not used to sharing a bed. He woke up with the urge to slap whoever had woken him in the face, and almost still did when he realized the situation. Neil was muttering uneasily, and his hands were clutching at where Riko had cut him today.

Was he dreaming of Riko? Riko sat up and put a hand on Neil’s shoulder. He wanted to see Neil’s face when he woke up to see where he was. Would he finally look at Riko with the fear Riko deserved?

Why was the prospect of that not so enticing as it should have been?

But before Riko could wake Neil up, a breathy word escaped Neil’s lips: “Father…”

Dreaming of the Butcher.

Riko shook Neil vigorously until at last his eyes flew open. Seeing Riko, he froze for a moment; then, slowly, he relaxed.

Riko said, “You shouldn’t dream about your father.”

Neil rubbed his eyes.

“Why are you so afraid of him?”

“I’m not,” Neil muttered. “Fuck, what time is it? Did I…”

“You are,” Riko said. “That’s stupid. Your father will probably never see you again. He certainly won’t get you back. You’re mine.”

“Your ego,” Neil said. “Fucking Moriyama.” He sat up, then stood and headed for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Should I ask permission to leave?” Neil said. “I won’t be able to sleep again. I’m going to go practice. Or maybe shower.”

“Stay here,” Riko commanded. “Come back.”

Neil’s hand was on the doorknob for a long moment before he came back. He sat back down on the bed. “Why did you want me here tonight anyway?”

“I just said it. You’re mine.”

He stroked Neil’s hair. Trying to calm him down—maybe. It really was stupid for Neil to be afraid of his father. (And Neil’s hair was soft.)

“Are you trying to be nice?”

“If I am, shouldn’t you appreciate it?”

Neil closed his eyes. “Don’t be nice, Riko. If I’m yours, you should cut me again. That’s why you do it, right? But my body never gets the message. All it will ever do is think you’re my dad.” His smile was a quivering on his lips. “You must find that frustrating.”

Riko did.

He found it frustrating that Neil was afraid tonight, afraid of a nightmare in a way he’d never been afraid of Riko. He found it frustrating that he had to share Neil with phantoms. He found it frustrating that even in this moment, Neil seemed to be far away. And yes, he found it frustrating that his method of marking Neil had backfired.

But, “So what?” he said. “You’re mine anyway. If your body doesn’t understand my knives…” He’d really thought they were working, but whatever, that was only a temporary setback. “…I can teach it another way.”

He kissed him.

He planted his lips on Neil’s lips, and waited to see if Neil would freeze or kiss back. Neil mostly seemed dazed—he didn’t stiffen or reciprocate—so he continued kissing, waiting to get more of a response. After a moment, Neil’s breath quickened. When Riko separated from him, he said, “I knew it.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” Riko said disdainfully.

“Oh, really?”

“Why should I? I can do what I want with you. If I want to do… this, who’s going to stop me?”

Neil’s laugh was a huff of breath. It sounded like he might go into some sort of fit though, like he might hyperventilate. Riko covered his mouth with one hand, put the other hand on the back of his neck, and waited for him to steady. At last his breathing evened out, and when Riko allowed him, he said, “All right. You might as well.”

So Riko kissed him. His lips, and then his neck, sucking hard on nightmare sweat, salty-sweet. And his hands crept under Neil’s shirt and explored the landscape of scars and new cuts and fresh bandages. Even without looking he could distinguish which marks were his. But even the parts marked by the Butcher were his, he thought. Neil was his all in all.

* * *

The day after that, the marks left on Neil’s neck were dark. Later in the week, they faded to yellow. Riko pressed his finger against them. “Do they still hurt?”

“Anything hurts if you press hard enough,” Neil said. “Why, do you want to leave more?”

“Why?” Riko asked. “Do you want me to leave more?”

“Why?” Neil asked. “Does it matter what I want?”

“No,” Riko said. “Of course it doesn’t. I know you enjoyed it, though.”

Neil scoffed. But his face turned red. There were other ways to call up blood than cutting skin, after all.

Riko almost didn’t say it. But he’d been thinking about it all week, maybe longer. And he shouldn’t have to be afraid to say it, shouldn’t be afraid to say anything. “I love you, Neil.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. I love you. Though I shouldn’t, someone as rebellious and stupid as you. But I love you. So you should accept that you’re mine and enjoy it, and not worry about anybody else.”

Neil nodded slowly. He didn’t meet Riko’s gaze, though, and as soon as Riko looked away, he bolted. Riko sighed.

It seemed he’d finally found a way to frighten Neil after all.


End file.
